


Feather of a Nephilim

by Bohemian (Linguam)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, M/M, Nothing explicit, Wingfic, Wings, Worried Magnus Bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 07:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguam/pseuds/Bohemian
Summary: Magnus can feel the bones in Alec’s hand shift for how hard he’s squeezing.“Alexander, please. Whatever it is, let me help you.”Alec frowns down at their hands. His throat works.“Did you know that some Nephilim are born with wings?”Magnus stares at him. Out of all the things he had expected, it certainly wasn’tthat.





	Feather of a Nephilim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ralf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralf/gifts).

> An early birthday gift for my dear friend, ralf! I couldn't pace myself, sorry (even my self-control has limits). I hope it doesn't disappoint <3
> 
> Happy reading, everyone! <3

Magnus is just adding the last ingredient to the potion he’s been brewing for the past four hours when his phone rings. He throws a glance at the caller ID and frowns. Squeezing out the last three drops of wolfsbane, he divests of his gloves and reaches for the phone.

“Alexander? I thought you had a meeting in Idris—”

“Magnus.”

Magnus freezes.

“Isabelle?” There are several reasons why his sister-in-law would call him from his husband’s office, and none of them are good ones. He puts a stasis spell on the potion and strides into the living-room. “What happened? Is Alec—”

“He’s in good hands—” Izzy begins, and that’s all that Magnus needs to hear.

He flicks a portal into existence.

“I’m on my way. Where—”

“No.”

Magnus stares at his phone.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tone cold. “I must have misheard you. Surely you’re not intending to _keep_ me from _my husband._ If he’s injured—”

“Alec’s not hurt… per se.”

The portal twists, red flaring at the edges. Magnus unclenches his fist with an even exhale. The last thing they need is another ‘skylight’ incident.

“You will understand how I don’t find that particularly reassuring.”

“I can’t tell you,” Izzy says. “It’s not my place. Alec will, later, when he’s… I’m sorry, Magnus, but you’ll just have to trust me on this.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can help—”

“You can’t,” Izzy says, not unkindly. “Not with this.”

Magnus swallows. He knows that Izzy would never lie to him about anything regarding Alexander’s safety or well-being—not even if Alec himself told her to.

“How long?”

“Three days.”

“Three _days._”

“I know,” Izzy says. “Trust me, I know. It sucks. But he’ll be fine.”

“But he isn’t now?”

“Magnus.” Izzy’s voice is warm, imbued with steady composure. Nothing like it would sound like if Alec was in any actual danger—Magnus, sadly, knows that for a fact. “He’s _okay._ Really. I promise that you have nothing to worry about.”

Magnus closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. 

“I can’t see him?”

“No.”

“Can I at least _talk_ to him?”

“I’m sorry.”

His fingers twitch. Magic sparks at the tips.

It goes against every fiber of his being, but he extinguishes the portal.

“Okay.” The word barely makes it through his throat. “Okay. You’ll call me, if—”

“You know I will.” There’s the sound of a door opening, followed by murmured voices. “Magnus, I have to get back. Try not to worry too much, okay? Alec will explain everything when he gets back.”

“Back from where?” Magnus asks, but Izzy has already hung up. He stares at the dark screen for one second, two, before he pulls up Alec’s contact. His husband looks back at him, hurricane-haired and sleepy-eyed, sunlight kissing one side of his stubbled face. It’s one of Magnus’s favorite pictures of him.

His thumb hovers over the call button. Izzy had said that Magnus couldn’t talk to him. What if he calls and interrupts something important, something that puts Alexander in danger?

Cursing, he puts the phone back in his pant pocket.

He spends the next two days and a half in a haze. He reschedules all of his appointments, too unfocused and agitated to be of any use. He is the plaything of his imagination and can only watch as his mind conjures up scenarios that grow all the more gruesome the longer the silence stretches. Izzy doesn’t call him again and he tells himself it’s a good thing, that no news is good news. It doesn’t help him sleep at night.

He’s standing by the window, failing to not let his worry occupy his thoughts, when the door opens. He doesn’t need his eyes to confirm what his magic is already telling him, but the sight of Alec standing in the hallway still makes his legs go weak with relief.

Alec smiles, small and tired.

“Hey.”

Magnus is across the room and pulling him into his arms before the hoarsely spoken word has fully left Alec’s chapped lips. He buries his face in Alec’s neck, his breath wobbling in his lungs, stumbling out his mouth. His husband hugs him back just as fiercely.

“I’m sorry,” Alec mumbles. His thumb goes back and forth over the knobs of Magnus’s spine. “I’m sorry. ‘S okay. I’m okay.”

Magnus swallows, wills the wetness from his eyes. He noses along Alec’s throat and breathes for the first time in almost three days. Alec smells cold and slightly metallic, like a blood-coated blade; but he is warm and solid in Magnus’s arms, his heartbeat thumping steadily in Magnus’s ear, and Magnus squeezes him even tighter.

It’s only because they’re pressed so close together that he notices the tremor of Alec’s chest against his own at the end of every exhale.

He draws back, brow furrowing, and cups a pale, gruff cheek. There are lines on Alec’s face that Magnus knows weren’t there three days ago, and his hazel eyes are dull, drooping with exhaustion and the lingering traces of pain.

Magic flickers over Magnus’s skin. Alec sighs, melting into him.

“What happened?” Magnus’s fingers sweep through Alec’s hair. “Where were you?”

“The Silent City.”

Magnus stiffens.

Alec squeezes his wrist. “I’ll tell you everything, just. Sit?”

Magnus all but drags Alec towards the couch. He watches as his husband lowers himself onto the cushions, free hand gripping the back for support.

“You’re in pain,” he accuses, worry stirring anew.

Alec shakes his head.

“Just achy.”

He tugs on Magnus’s hand and Magnus situates himself in front of him, bent knee resting against Alec’s thigh. Alec leans into the backrest with a sigh, head cradled in his palm. There is familiar guilt in the downward tilt of his mouth when he says, “I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I should’ve told you about it before- I would have, but I didn’t think it would ever be relevant. I didn’t think it would happen to _me._”

Magnus can feel the bones in Alec’s hand shift for how hard he’s squeezing.

“Alexander, please. Whatever it is, let me help you.”

Alec frowns down at their hands. His throat works.

“Did you know that some Nephilim are born with wings?”

Magnus stares at him. Out of all the things he had expected, it certainly wasn’t _that._

“It’s not common,” Alec continues when Magnus doesn’t answer. “But it’s not exactly rare, either. It usually only affects the old family lines. My great-great-grandmother had them, but that’s the most recent one in our family. I don’t know much about it, if she had them since birth or if they developed later on. It’s pretty taboo to talk about. Izzy thinks it’s got something to do with recessive genes but, it’s not very well-documented.”

Magnus’s mind is racing.

“Alexander…” He’s heard of winged Nephilim, but only in the same sense as Mundanes hear of the creatures of the Shadow World. It’s all myths and fables.

Alec’s lips twitch into something not-quite a smile.

“The process is… pretty intense,” he says, which Magnus immediately translates to ‘excruciating.’ “They don’t just appear out of thin air. The wings. They grow out of your back, just tiny lumps at first. The Silent Brothers have to pull them all the way out or they’ll grow deformed. The procedure takes longer the older you are when you get them.”

Magnus’s mind is all too willing to set the scene: Alec, lying on a hard surface, surrounded by uncaring, unfamiliar faces, strapped down or held down, eyes squeezed shut and face twisted in pain, screaming as cold hands tug large pieces of bone from his back—tug _wings_ from his—

His throat tightens.

“So, you.” He swallows. “For three days, you’ve been…”

Alec strokes his hand.

“They wouldn’t have let you in, Magnus,” he says softly. “It’s a sacred ritual and one of our most guarded secrets. Even if you’d been allowed, there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

_I could have held you,_ Magnus thinks. _I could have been_ there. But he knows that Alec wouldn’t have wanted him there. His husband would rather deny himself comfort than risk upsetting Magnus.

“Jace was there,” Alec says, as if following his train of thought. He snorts, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think he was supposed to be, but. Perks of being a Herondale, I guess.”

Magnus is glad for that, at least. Knowing that Alec had his parabatai by his side is second best only to him being there himself.

Alec traces the uneven edges of Magnus’s nail polish.

“I didn’t mean to keep this from you,” he says. “I just never thought—”

“It doesn’t matter.” With Alec sitting right in front of him, safe and whole and close enough to touch, none of it matters. Magnus takes in the uncharacteristic slouch, the grayish skin, the eyes open at half-mast. “Are you all right?”

The smile Alec shoots him is small but genuine.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just tired.” He rubs at his face, yawning. “I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

Magnus nods. He brushes his fingers through Alec’s bangs, smoothing out those ever-present creases on his forehead. Alec nuzzles into the touch, humming.

“Is there anything I can do?” Magic thrums under his skin, eager to be useful after three days of agitated waiting and worrying.

“Your magic won’t work on them,” Alec mumbles. His lips tickle the skin of Magnus’s palm. “They- the wings, they, uh. They’re pretty much resistant to demonic magic.”

Interesting.

“Can I see them?”

Alec peers at him from underneath hooded lids.

“You want to?”

Magnus’s lips quirk.

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. You don’t have to, of course,” he adds, instantly serious. “Not right now, or ever. I understand wanting to keep certain parts of yourself private. I won’t be offended if—”

The rest of the sentence gets stuck in Magnus’s throat as Alec is suddenly framed by two huge, ink-black wings. They’re dark enough to appear shapeless, large enough that the one hanging over the couch’s back touches the floor.

Mesmerized, Magnus reaches out. His black nail polish looks gray in comparison to the depth of Alec’s wings. The bottom feathers almost seem to shimmer, going from sleek to fuzzy and more muted in color the higher up he gets, closer to the bone. He caresses a downy tuft between his fingers. It’s softer than any silk he’s ever touched.

He traces the top of one wing, feathers so thick he can’t feel the bone underneath. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Alec shiver and pauses. “Do they- does it hurt?”

“No.” Alec’s voice is breathless. “Just… sensitive.”

Magnus hums and files that information away for later. He withdraws his hand, exchanges velvety plumage for a stubbled cheek and guides Alec’s lips to his own, pouring all of his wonder, gratitude, relief, and love into the kiss.

“Thank you for showing me, Alexander.”

Alec mumbles something incomprehensible, eyes closed. He tips forward until he can tuck his face into Magnus’s neck, giving another yawn. Magnus cards his fingers through Alec’s hair, careful to avoid his back, breathless with the love he has for this man.

Alec tenses against him and the wings withdraw. Magnus’s eyes are glued to them, to the faded blue that tinges the outside of the feathers, but he still doesn’t see it happen.

Alec breathes out slowly. Magnus feels the deliberate unclenching of muscles.

“Are you all right?”

Alec hums.

“Need to practice.” He yawns again. “You have questions.”

“I do.” His mind is racing with them, too many to count. But now is not the time. “It can wait until the morning.”

“‘til the morning,” Alec murmurs. His breath is warm against Magnus’s throat. “Missed you.”

Magnus closes his eyes and hugs him closer.

“I missed you, too, darling.” They have a lot to talk about, and Magnus still needs to make sure that, when the exhaustion lifts and reality comes to take its place, Alec is _really_ okay—with the wings, with what he went through, with whatever it all means for him, for them.

But, for now, he kisses Alec’s hair, breathes, and contends to just hold him.


End file.
